Page 3 of Solo

“I’m going to sleep. For about a month,” I mutter.

“Oh yeah. I crashed at my parents’ place for the entire summer after I finished my grad degree and I don’t think I left my bed for the first week. What about you? Will you be headed back home to your folks, too?”

“Nope,” I say, poking at the napkin over my wound.

“No?”

Oh, hell. I know this trick. He’s hoping I’ll feel compelled to elaborate. I won’t. But it’s got me wondering if maybe Hot Teacher Guy recognizes me as the daughter of “Senator Satan” and is fishing for a little info. It wouldn’t be the first time a potential date has started out by way of morbid curiosity.

“I’m sorry,” he says before I can comment. “I don’t mean to be nosy. It’s just a bad habit of mine. I meet an interesting, funny, pretty woman and I jump right into the personal details.”

“Nah, it’s okay,” I say softly, his compliments making me feel suddenly bashful.

“Hey, you wanna have coffee sometime?” he asks, quickly looking over at me. He seems a bit taken aback by his boldness, with the lip biting and all.

“Really?” I laugh. “I’m bleeding all over your posh leather interior and you actually want to see me again?”

“Why not? I like being the white knight.”

“What? Rescuing the damsel in distress from the parking lot, riding in on your white BMW?”

“Sure.” He shrugs. “I’ll rescue you from the big, bad Dr. Drew the Dragon, too, if you want. We could run off to the Pancake Cottage and live happily ever after. Well, for an hour or two, anyway.”

“Oh, so tempting.” I groan and grin at the same time. “You’ve just stumbled upon my Achilles’ heel.”

“Breakfast?”

I nod enthusiastically.

“Well, come on, then! You can get the notes from someone else, can’t you?”

I sigh heavily, allowing my mind a nanosecond-long fantasy involving this Kevin guy and pancake syrup.

Stop it!

“No, I can’t,” I reluctantly decline. “I have an assignment due and Markham won’t take it if I don’t come to class.”

He looks a little disappointed, but still determined.

“Okay, well, how about a cup of coffee later, then?” he presses.

Oh, what the hell? What else have I got to do except study scores in my apartment and work on my midterm project?

“Um, yeah, I think I’d like that,” I agree at last.

“Great! What time are you free?” he asks just as we’re pulling into the Arts Complex lot. I notice that it’s already full. Even if I had been able to get my car running, no way I’d have found a parking spot. I glance at the dashboard clock: 7:58. If I fly into the building and right up the stairs, I should just make it.

“Uh, noon?” I ask as I reach for the visor so I can flip it down and take a quick peek in the mirror. I want to be sure my face is blood-free before I get out of the car. The car which now jerks to a sudden stop, propelling me forward against the seat belt.

“Oh, wait, don’t…” Kevin says, reaching toward the visor and sounding suddenly alarmed.

But he’s too late. I see it.

My heart sinks, breaks, and explodes all at the same time. This guy is obviously not who he says he is. And I am obviously a fool. I twist around to face Kevin, who looks considerably paler than he was the last time I checked.

“I—uh… That’s just a…” he stammers.

“Microphone,” I say coolly, examining the small black disc about the size of a button. There’s a black wire running from it. When I follow the line, I see how it’s carefully tacked around the headliner.